Falling In Love For The Last Time
by garnetcitrine
Summary: A Robert/Kristen one-shot. Basically just a little view into their lives to see how things began and how they were mostly before Robsten was 'Robsten.' Kinda angsty, nothing too depressing.


_I'm falling in love for the last time._

_I'm falling in love forever and ever._

_I'm falling in love with a girl that ain't mine,_

_I'm falling in love for the last time._

She clenched her teeth and suppressed a gag, watching Nikki grind all over him.

Nikki took another sip of beer, smiling coyly at Rob as he gave her a polite smile.

Kristen chuckled quietly. So she _didn't _have an effect on him_. Huh._

He didn't even have an erection, not in the least. The fly on his jeans remained where it was. No tent.

Kristen shook her head, not wanting anyone to catch her staring at his crotch.

"So, Rob." Jackson said politely, obviously trying to get Nikki to stop undressing him with her eyes.

Even where Kristen sat she could tell Nikki wasn't going to get lucky. Rob looked utterly bored.

Kristen hid her secret smile.

The scruffy man sitting on the couch opposite her wasn't the Rob she'd remembered from set. He looked tired and drunk and…stoned.

His eyes bloodshot and droopy, the skin around his bright blue orbs colorful. He was high.

She smirked and took another sip of Heineken.

* * *

Robert Pattinson was in hell.

Okay, so maybe he was being dramatic.

But the joint he'd smoked in the car wasn't helping, he could still feel his disgust as Nikki ran her nails up his arm in what he suspected was supposed to be 'seductive.'

"Let's get outta here." She whispered in his ear, too low for anyone to hear.

He shivered and shrugged his arms. How could it hurt to have a little fun? To just get in, get off and get outta there?

He finally nodded. "'kay." He slurred drunkenly.

His eyes wandered to the beautiful brunette sitting across from him, alternating between talking to Jackson and taking sips of her beer.

She was exquisite. Even drunk and high he could still see she was almost angelic, glowing. What he wouldn't give to be buried inside _her_ tonight, to make love with her instead of fucking Nikki.

Too bad his all-too-desired co-star just happened to have a boyfriend.

And _good sense _as his mate, Tom, had so generously pointed out. Asshole.

Nikki took him by the hand and stood up, and Kristen, Jackson, Kellan and Ashley all resisted the urge to regurgitate their dinners.

Kristen felt herself grow livid, but she bit her tongue. Let the slut fuck him. Let them both get a few good orgasms out of it.

It didn't mean anything anyway.

She found herself hoping, in a small part of her mind, that Nikki had forgotten to take her Birth Control pill this morning and that Rob would just happen to not have a condom on him.

She couldn't help herself; she let out a hearty laugh.

Everyone stopped talking to look at her, Rob giving her a curious look.

She smirked devilishly and took a large chug of her beer, letting it _thunk _on the table in front of her.

Then she gave Rob a look that was barely decent in public; let alone in a bedroom.

He gaped open-mouthed as Nikki drug him out of there.

He knew who he'd be thinking about as Nikki rode him tonight.

* * *

"You ever think about like…love?" He automatically felt stupid for asking it, but he was high and his verbal diarrhea had no filter.

She kept her eyes trained on his guitar as she answered, "Why?"

"I don't—just forget it." He tried to talk around the cigarette between his lips.

He strummed his guitar once, his long finger plucking out the beginning of_ 'Smoke on the Water.' _

They both grinned crookedly at each other.

"How boring are we?" She murmured after a moment, taking the cigarette from his lips and putting it between her own, letting the sweet smoke fill her lungs.

"I know, right? It's Friday night and we just—stay inside and get wasted."

"And high." She added for him. "Don't forget about getting high."

"That too." He winked at her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few beats, passing the cigarette to each other. It was extremely intimate to both of them, sharing this cigarette. For a few moments they felt connected again.

"Rob?" She asked after a few minutes, sick of watching the comedian on TV jump around the stage.

"Huh?"

"If I asked you to fuck me right now, what would you say?"

He sputtered and choked on the smoke he'd just inhaled, expecting anything but _that._ Of course, he already knew how it felt to move inside her, to have her writhe against him in sheer…_agonized pleasure._ In that fateful hotel room in Japan…

"Jesus Christ, Kristen!"

She looked annoyed for a moment. "Well…?"

"I don't know what I'd say! Why?"

"Just wondering."

"What I'd give to just be able to hear your thoughts for a day…" He mused, taking a drink of beer to try and soothe his throat.

"They're too vulgar for you. You'd end up crying in the corner like a pussy." She smirked at him then took his beer, bringing it to her lips.

It was then he knew she was trying purposely to seduce him. And he fucking loved it.

* * *

A year changed her.

Of that he could tell. He guessed it made sense. A new year, new Kristen. 2009 brought with it a new sense of attitude for him, a new personality for her.

This Kristen was more shy around him, less outgoing. She was growing up, he guessed. But he couldn't stop the nagging feeling that she was pushing away from him.

She was reserved around him, but around Taylor she was happy and smiling.

It didn't take long for the jealousy to settle in his veins. He'd never been possessive of a woman before. A few guitars maybe, but never a woman.

But when he saw Kristen throw her head back in amusement at something Taylor said, he felt the feeling kick in before he could talk himself out of it.

Because he only thought one thing while looking at him co-star.

_Mine. _

* * *

_She's got these big green eyes_

_And they're as wide as the moon,_

_And they can take you to bed_

_Without you leaving the room._

_I'd kill just to be her man._

_But she's too cool to give a damn._

"Do you want to hang out at my room tonight? Maybe catch some bad T.V?" He asked nervously, still not sure of her answer.

"Uh…" She hesitated. This was just like old times. If she went tonight, they'd fall into their old routine. It would be easy. Simple.

She wasn't sure she wanted that. And not just because she was still with Mike. She could care less about that anymore.

She was scared, though. Scared of what would happen if they got a little too drunk, a little too high. Then he'd fuck her and it would be wonderful and she'd be in so deep that when he left in the morning she'd cry like a little bitch. It wasn't like it hadn't already happened…in fact, a few months prior in a hotel room in Japan—and a few beers and joints later, she might add—they'd had sex…_made love_…whatever. In the heat of the moment they'd threw the others' clothes off and gone straight for it, and it was simply…astonishing how she had felt. But after the morning light had creeped it's way through the thick curtains…

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

"I'll be over around six." She murmured, walking ahead of him and not looking back to see the victorious smirk on his beautiful face.

She didn't even know how in love with her he already was.

* * *

If there was one person in this world that Robert Pattinson absolutely could not stand, it would have to be Michael Oregano—okay, so he knew it was _Angarano_, but that didn't stop him from mentally changing it himself.

He didn't even like to think of him as 'Michael.' Or as a person.

He preferred the term _'Chicken Fucker.'_ Yeah, he'd gotten it off _Super Troopers._ It was still fitting.

But anyhow, back to why he hated him.

The fucker would show up on set about once a month to 'spend time' with his girlfriend. Rob didn't buy that bullshit. He visited the set to claim his fucking property. Property that Robert Pattinson would kill for. Literally.

But he couldn't do a god damned thing about it. He and Kristen couldn't even hang out when he was around.

The Chicken Fucker.

He put his arm around Kristen, clearly a possessive gesture. Nikki Reed fanned herself over him like he was a God—they'd worked on like one movie together and they were supposedly like 'best friends'—but he knew that look in Nikki's eyes. That 'I'm going to fuck him as soon as I get the chance' look. It made Rob sick, because it was the same look that Michael had towards Nikki.

* * *

_She makes me feel like a king_

_She makes me feel like a freak_

_She plays on me because she knows that I'm weak_

_She knows just what to say to brighten up my day._

_So now I'm feeling sick and she's still having fun_

_I guess she thinks that I'm thick or maybe a little dumb._

_But it makes no odds to me._

_I'm a fool for misery…_

A fool for misery.

It didn't take long for him to despise Kristen for what she was doing to him. This leading him along shit had to stop.

He hated that she did it.

And he hated that he fucking loved it so much.

If he really thought about it, it had always been this way. He'd always felt like that around her. So why was it such a big deal now?

He was fucking stupid, _clearly_, to let him treat her as she did.

But what could he do?

He was hopelessly in love with the small, feisty teenage girl that already had a boyfriend…the same teenager he'd taken in a very un-teenagerish way just a few months prior.

He clenched his teeth and strummed his guitar harder, listening to Jackson sing and Ashley clap excitedly.

Kristen sat, silently watching them, a content smile on her face.

Michael had just left and she was feeling…

Sad?

Lonely?

Melancholy?

No. She wasn't feeling any of those things.

She was feeling…

She shook her head and took another sip of beer, hoping to dispel the thoughts.

They didn't go away.

_Nothing. _

Kristen Stewart was feeling nothing.

* * *

Rob pulled onto the set in a car Kristen had never seen before, getting out of the passenger side and flashing a crooked smile to whoever was driving.

She craned her neck to see a head of blonde hair, clearly female.

Her blood boiled.

She was feeling…

Well there was no question to what she was feeling now.

She was _livid._

"Who's the blonde?" She asked, clearly sneering.

"Huh?" Rob asked, faking dumb and walking in the direction of his trailer.

"You know," She seethed, "You could at least fucking respect working hours and actually show up on time instead of getting a blow job from a random bitch in the hotel bathroom."

He turned to glare at her before muttering, "Why the fuck do you care, anyway?" Before stalking off to makeup, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"I'm sorry." He said from somewhere behind her, quietly.

She shook her head, biting her lip. Damn her fucking emotional tendencies.

She prayed that the tears would stay in.

She nodded, knowing that he could see, not wanting to have to talk and have her voice break embarrassingly.

He walked over to her somewhat awkwardly, holding the cigarette out to her. She took a puff and exhaled, letting a small smile come over her face. He was forgiven; his peace offering accepted.

"You know," he said suddenly, shyly, "If you hated the idea of me being with someone else so much—"

"Rob." She warned, already knowing where he was going with this.

He ignored her. "You could always do something about it." He finished. "You could always—you know, ask me out or something."

Okay, _fuck_ the peace offering.

She let out a sarcastic chuckle. "No, Rob."

But she didn't feel as strong as she sounded, and that disturbed her greatly.

She threw the cigarette on the ground and walked to her car without a backward glance.

He stood, looking after her retreat, unfazed.

This wasn't the first time he'd been rejected by Kristen Stewart.

* * *

_He is relentless,_ she thought, watching his long, nimble fingers flick the guitar strings, but his eyes were on her.

She looked up suddenly.

"Flippy." She said without thinking. She did that too much around him.

"Huh?" He asked, obviously wondering whether or not she was speaking English.

"Flippy. That's your new nickname."

She said this with an air of certainty, like she _deserved_ to call him a nickname different from the rest. And, he supposed, she _did_ deserve it. She _was_ his best friend. And so much more.

"Why flippy?" He then asks curiously.

"Because your fingers are like flippers." She made the movement with her tiny hands as though she was strumming a guitar, only she flipped her fingers comically. "So I'm calling you flippy." She smiled in satisfaction.

He just grinned and puckered his lips so she'd hold the cigarette to them, enjoying the feel of her hand against his face.

After he'd sucked in she'd pulled away and smirked, and he'd let the smoke out directly in front of her open mouth.

She gasped and looked at him in shock as she inhaled the smoke that had just been in his throat—in his _mouth._

It was the most erotic thing either of them had ever done.

Suddenly, it was too hot in there and Kristen felt herself flush, and Rob's pants were a lot tighter than they had been just a few moments ago.

And there was suddenly a magnetic force between the two of them, no one else in the world.

They wasted no time by bothering to run into her bedroom. Their clothes were scattered around the floor in record time.

He took her on the couch. Slowly, roughly, passionately.

Each thrust was like the most delicious form of torture. He created a fire deep within her belly that only _he_ could fuel, that only _he _could smother. And he was everywhere. On her tongue, on her lips, on her fingers, in between every hair and every cell of her body. She felt him. And only him.

Their pants and groans and growls filled the room, the most beautiful cacophony of sound if you asked him. He couldn't play any piece of music that sounded better.

And when they finally hit that most satisfying peak of their lovemaking, her first, then him, she grasped onto him with a strength he didn't know she possessed, their toes curled in ecstasy, and they both cried out so loud it was a wonder none of the neighbors complained.

It was amazing. Hot, passionate, loving.

It was exactly as she'd feared, but _so. fucking. good._

She lay on his chest afterwards, running her fingers through his sparse chest hair as they shared a joint.

In the morning she'd blame it on the beer and joints, claiming the shock she'd felt between them was just a result of static electricity from the storm that had been brewing. She even had the weather reports to prove it.

He knew better, though.

He would _always _know better.

_If you're sitting comfortably then let me begin._

_I want to tell you a tale about the mess that I'm in._

_And it all starts with a girl._

_And shes breaking up my whole world._

_I'm falling in love for the last time_

_I'm falling in love forever and ever._

_Falling in love with a girl that ain't mine_

_I'm falling in love for the last time…_


End file.
